


The End is the Beginning of the End

by Windymon



Category: Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Fall of Silvermoon, Set during Third War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windymon/pseuds/Windymon
Summary: Silvermoon has fallen and in the remains the three future leaders cope with the events of the aftermath.





	1. Lor'themar

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one shot in Lor'themar's POV, then the two following chapters happened. Oops? :P

Blood and gore still clung to Halduron's Farstrider uniform, the red standing our harshly against the green of the fabric when he entered the Wayfarer’s Rest. He slumped down in the chair opposite Lor'themar and took the offered wine glass without a word. In three huge gulps he had emptied it.

"Lilarin's hawkstrider finally returned,” he said, starting forlornly at the empty glass. Lor'themar moved to refill it, but Halduron shook his head. "She won't let anyone close enough to touch her though, and she's got a really bad wound on her chest...I think we might lose her too before the night is out."

Lor'themar wrinkled his forehead, which set off shards of pain all through his skull as it agitated the wound beneath his bandages. So much loss, and in such a relatively short time span, yet somehow every new tragedy brought to bear, however small, woke fresh hurt inside him.

"I feel I've aged another century at least,” Halduron sighed. "I can still see them, Light, I can still _smell_ them if I close my eyes!"

"It might be because there's still a fair few left around,” Lor'themar heard himself say, sipping idly on his own wine glass.

Was he trying to lighten the mood? He wasn't quite sure, and the headache born from trying to focus with just one eye wasn't making rational thought any easier. It didn’t help that he kept forgetting his loss and being shocked anew when there was nothing but darkness to his left.

Halduron, bless him, still almost cracked a smile.

"Maybe I should head back out there with a quiver of arrows, if I can salvage enough. Avenge your platoon at the same time."

"You should get some rest,” Lor'themar told his friend fondly, taking another sip from his glass. "Things are somewhat under control for now and I dare say you've earned it."

Halduron let out another sigh, then indicated that he would like some more wine now, please.

"Maybe after I've looked in on the stables one last time,” he said, taking a deep drag of his refilled glass. "Most of the stable hands are dead, and what mounts survived were all in a panic when I brought my hawkstrider in. Light, half the stables caved in when one of those... Abominations crashed through."

Lor'themar managed an indolent smile, swirling the wine in his glass in a soothing motion. How quickly their lives had turned from routine patrols to clean up after their worst nightmares had come to horrific life. He was starting to suspect the wine would do nothing to purge him of what he had been forced to experience.

"What about you then, Lor?" Halduron asked him, cradling the wine glass in both of his twitchy hands. "You've been at it since this whole thing started too."

"Yes,” Lor'themar wanted to say. "I have been, because I feared that a friend I thought I could trust with my soul might have betrayed us all in the worst way possible. And the realization that I had been right would have killed me if not for your timely arrival."

But he didn't, instead he managed a weary shrug and emptied his glass in one huge swallow.

"Who else is going to lead them, Hal?" he simply said. "There is no one else left."

He let the words hang there, heavy as rain clouds on an otherwise fine day.

"There's that archmage, the friend of Kael'thas", Halduron finally offered, gaze locked somewhere to the right of him, avoiding the bloodied bandages to his left.

"You mean Rommath?" Lor'themar said. "Light, I think he might end up Grand Magister at this point."

He shook his head sadly before he continued.

"He's about as friendly as an angry Lynx, so no, I don't think he would be the right person to look after a frightened and lost group of survivors right now."

Halduron looked at him, properly looked at him, a thoughtful expression on his blood-spattered face. Whose blood was that, Lor'themar found himself thinking, is it from the Scourge, a necromancer, or is it the blood of another elf?

"It's not really your fault,”Halduron finally said, placing a comforting hand on his thigh. in a different life, a different reality he might have found the gesture arousing. Now, he is only grateful for the comfort of an old friend."You can't blame yourself for what Dath...That Light-forsaken shit did, so don't think you have anything to atone for."

"I know,” Lor'themar admitted, though his mind screamed otherwise at him. "But the fact still remains, King Anasterian and the Convocation are all dead and I am the most senior member of the Farstriders left. Hal, our people *need* someone to look to right now."

"I guess there isn't any point in arguing with you anymore,” Halduron said wearily and cracked a feeble smile. It caused some of the dried blood to flake away and fall like brown snowflakes to the ground.

"Look after yourself, Lor, because you'll be no good to anyone if you keel over,” he added as he pulled himself out of the chair and despite his obvious fatigue, he still made it look somewhat elegant. Lor'themar envied him for that, because he doubted he could manage that himself.

"I'll try,” Lor'themar assured his friend. "It will only be until Kael'thas returns, then I can rest."

"Al diel shalah", Halduron offered as he left, handing over his empty glass with a slight bow.

"Al diel shalah", Lor'themar said in return, some of his inner hurts soothed by that familiar Farstrider exchange.

He would need to cling to such scraps of comfort if he were to survive the days that lay ahead of him.

 

 


	2. Halduron

Halduron began to regret his decision as soon as he had crossed the crumbling courtyard and made his way past the rubble to the pathway which would take him to the ruined stables. His eyes felt like they were full of sand and the wine he'd just downed on an empty stomach was only making matters worse. The pervasive stink of decay that seemed to cling to everything like a ruined blanket was making his stomach ponder the idea of expelling what he'd just consumed.

When the shambling remains of what had once been an elf stumbled out of the shadows with a ruined chest and pitiful expression on its face Halduron only just managed to force his blade into the risen corpse's neck, before it could sink its teeth into his face. Heart beating from the shock he had to push his foot into the chest with a sickening crunch to retrieve his blade.

He made a disgusted face as he felt blood sink into his already befouled boots and resolved to let the poor stable hands manage without him until the morning. Surely, he could allow himself a nap.

Then he felt the acrid tang of smoke, slowly overpowering the scent of rotting flesh and with a jolt he realized it was coming from the direction he was heading.

"Fuck,” he heard himself say out loud as he forced himself into motion, bounding down the cobbled path he'd idly wandered up and down so many times in the past, silently wishing he was just so tired he was starting to hallucinate. Then he saw the billowing smoke coming towards him and now he could hear the screams of frightened animals.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck!" The words spewed out as a mantra, and the adrenaline finally kicked in, pushing away his exhaustion.

"Captain Halduron!" one of the stable hands, a boy barely out of his first decade cried as he ran towards him. "I don't know what happened, I'm so sorry!"

Halduron did know what must have happened, with a dearth of magi around to bother with such a menial task as providing light they had had to resort to fire lit lanterns. And dried hay could be an excellent fire starter if one was not used to handling a live flame.

"Is there anyone left inside?" he said, shaking the boy's shoulders to stop him from babbling out an endless repetition of "I'm sorrys". He was being rough, he knew that, but this was important.

The boy's eyes widened and dug his fingers into Halduron's arm.

"Keran was going to water the animals before he left,” the boy blurted out.

Halduron stifled another curse, then pulled off his already ruined cloak and dunked it in the water trough.

"Find help, now!" he barked out as he wrapped the soaked fabric around his head and shoulders before he ran into the door of the stables, the heat already intense enough that it made him gasp.

He called the out the name of the other stable hand and on his way, he kicked open every stall door, ducking and weaving as panicked horses or hawkstriders bolted past him towards safety outside. The smoke made his eyes water and his throat feel like sandpaper and somewhere at the back of his mind whispered a voice that if he did not turn around soon, he might not make it out alive.

Halduron found the stall of his own Hawkstrider, Dal'diel, and let the poor creature out when he heard the whimpers of another elf, from across the aisle. Keran must have tried to do what he had done, and let the animals out, but he'd started with one of the surviving unicorns, which in its terror had thrown the boy aside like a rag doll, tearing a deep gash with its horns in the process.

The wound looked bad, but it would not matter at all if he could not get them both out of here. The beams above them were already letting out fearsome creaks and groans and the smoke was now so thick Halduron had to breathe through his wet cloak to get any air inside his lungs.

He managed to tuck the boy close to his chest as he turned around the way he'd come, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible. The hungry flames were licking at his boots as if it was urging him on. Well, Halduron didn't need that encouragement.

He finally caught sight of the doorway, a faint glimmer of the moon barely visible when the night wind forced more smoke outside. Then there was a crash and a wall of flame suddenly barred his way.

He tried to push away the wave of despair which threatened to overwhelm him. What an idiot, what an enormous, reckless fool he was. Who was he to lecture Lor'themar about looking after himself?

And then there was a strange sucking sound and the flames were pulled outwards, as if they were caught by some invisible flow. When a large gap appeared in the wall of fire Halduron didn't waste another minute and ran through as fast as he could, the fire licking his hair and shoulders like a lover.

He gently dropped the boy on the ground before he dunked his head fully in what water remained in the water through gasping for air as he surfaced.

"I leave you idiots alone for a second and you burn down the stables!" his rescuer said, staring at the collapsing building with arms crossed over a surprisingly toned chest. "You should be glad I got here in time."

The mage, for that's what the dirtied robes indicated, turned to pierce Halduron with the full brunt of his glare. Halduron could swear he saw tiny flames burning in them, echoing the flames behind them.

If Halduron had had the air to spare for it, he might have managed some sort of defense of himself, but instead he sat down on his ass sucking in breaths until he felt he had control of his lungs again.

"Did--" he began, but had to stop to cough. "Did the animals make it out?"

He spared Keran a glance and was relieved to see that the boy was breathing too.

The mage huffed and uncrossed his arms.

"The fact that I was almost trampled by a veritable stampede of beasts should indicate as much,” he said, clenching and unclenching his hands. "It will be an absolute delight hunting all of them down before they cause any more damage."

The mage looked about as weary as Halduron felt, so he tried to contain his own annoyance at the harshness of the mage's words.

"You should get yourself and the boy to the healers, to see if they have time to spare for you,” the mage added disdainfully. "I can handle things from here."

Halduron wanted to protest, wanted to argue for himself, but before he could tell the mage exactly how he felt about being treated as a simpleton a memory, sparked by his recent conversation with Lor'themar clicked into place.

"You're Archmage Rommath,” he heard himself say.

"Looks like the fire didn't completely sear your wits away, since you thought to use my full title,” the mage, Rommath, said, forcing sweat-streaked strands of dark hair out of his eyes. "I suppose common courtesy dictates I should ask for your name in return, if only so I can give a full report to Prince Kael'thas once he arrives."

Halduron had a second when he pondered being obstinate, but he had no energy left for it now.

"I'm Ranger Captain Halduron Brightwing,” he said as boldly as he could, trying to match Rommath's glare.

"Well, on your way then, Captain Brightwing,” Rommath said, waving his hand. "Hopefully we shall not have to endure each other's company again."

As Halduron picked up the boy and made his way to the Bazaar, where they both would find help, he wished the mage was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch me naming hawkstriders again. Honorary mention to the unicorns the high elves still sort of ride?


	3. Rommath

Rommath had to spend an indeterminate amount of time containing the fire of the stables, ensuring they did not spread any further. It was only the movement of the moon in the sky that hinted at the time which had passed. This was the last thing Silvermoon needed, more wanton destruction, where there was so little of it left.

When the fire was finally going out on its own, he let out a deep sigh, pushing away the sense of fatigue that was threatening to overwhelm him completely. Because underneath that was a strange, clammy feeling that was more than the signs of normal mana depletion. He had to allow the disturbing possibility into his mind that there was something terribly wrong with the Sunwell.

Kicking a bit of dirt at the smoking remains of the stables in frustration, he let out another string of curses, at Arthas, at whatever or whoever had allowed him to bypass Ban'dinoriel, at his own inability to do more. Grand Magister Belo'vir, Light rest his soul, had given him the task of transporting civilians away, but surely he could have done more. Every reanimated elf he had seen and been forced to kill with a well-placed fireball were evidence of his own failure.

But the heaviest weight of all on his shoulders was the knowledge that he had sent so many (children!) to Quel’Danas, which Arthas had made as unsafe as any other place in Quel’Thalas. How could he have known that Arthas had a way to reach it? Such excuses were quickly swatted away. He should have done something, and he hadn’t.

Wearied in body and soul, he wandered back towards the Bazaar, hoping to find a quiet corner to himself where he could gather his thoughts and prepare himself for Kael'thas’ arrival. Rommath supposed he should report about this to the ranger who had put himself in charge of the ragged band of survivors in the city, but he did not have the energy to spare for him.

Alas, both his desire for privacy and to avoid Lor'themar Theron were quashed as the ranger somehow managed to seek him out among the tents and throngs of huddled elves the moment he stepped into The Bazaar.

"Rommath,” he called, weaving past a weeping mother cradling a small child to her chest.

Rommath bit back the retort that threatened to leave his lips and just waited for the ranger to make his way over to him.

"I heard from Halduron what happened,” he said, managing the feat of looking handsome despite his worn, blood stained clothing and the bandages wrapped around his face. "Allow me to thank you for saving my lieutenant."

"It's Archmage Rommath,” he heard himself say, prickly with irritation. Whatever was going on with the Sunwell was making him feel like he had an itch inside him.

"Archmage Rommath, then.” Lor'themar Theron said, looking strangely unperturbed. It only served to increase Rommath's annoyance. Who did this ranger think he was anyway?  Kael'thas could not arrive here soon enough.

"Well, someone had to make sure we did not have a wildfire on our hands as well,” Rommath finally managed, forcing himself to make eye contact with Theron.

"It was a simple mistake,” he received in response. "I will inform everyone and make sure it won't happen again."

"I should hope so,” Rommath said, considering the matter settled and moved to leave.

He was stopped however by a hand on his arm. Rommath made the split-second decision not to swat it away but did shoot Theron a glare.

"Have you come across any more survivors?" the ranger asked, hope in his one remaining eye.

Glaring at the hand on his arm until the ranger dropped it, Rommath then raised his eyes to look once more at the man in front of him.

"The last of the living I found have already been sent here,” Rommath said, with a clear emphasis on living.

"I feared as much,” Theron said with a sigh, gazing over his shoulder at the sad remains of their once proud people. "It will be a bleak sight that awaits Prince Kael'thas upon his arrival."

Rommath thought to bring up the threats they had faced and overcome in the past, but the words caught in his throat. Had they ever faced something as grave as this before?

When he closed his eyes, he relived the last time he had seen Grand Magister Bel'ovir alive. His head had been held high despite the gravity of the situation, despite his own blood staining the robes of his office. Could Rommath make himself emulate that?

Looking over at the ranger, presuming to lead them all, he decided that he would have to try. If not for Kael'thas, or even for his surviving people, then for himself.

He would make himself into a servant, a tool and through that he would ensure that something like this could never happen to Quel'thalas ever again.

"Well, we can discuss Prince Kael'thas arrival further in the morning, after you've rested,” Theron said, annoyingly perceptive, finally leaving to give Rommath his desired space.

He knew he should take this opportunity given him, perhaps he would have an easier time dealing with the ranger after some sleep, but he sensed that itch inside him would keep him up, brooding. Thinking, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

Sleep could wait until later, when there was no more rubble in the streets, when the dead were no longer walking them and Kael'thas was sitting on his throne.

Until then Rommath would be strong, for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was ridiculously antsy about writing Rommath POV, but here goes!

**Author's Note:**

> For those that wonder, yes the title is a Smashing Pumpkins song on purpose.
> 
> My eternal thanks to the Disaster Elves people for edit help and encouragement, especially Flyingllamas.


End file.
